


There's Magic in the Rain

by inkheart9459



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25294186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkheart9459/pseuds/inkheart9459
Summary: There's a thunderstorm on the horizon. Hermione likes the rain, has since she was little, and she thinks that after everything that's happened, maybe what she needs is to be out in the controlled chaos of the storm. Her mother always said there was magic in the rain. Perhaps it's enough to fix her.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Comments: 14
Kudos: 207





	There's Magic in the Rain

Hermione looks out the window at the dark grey clouds. A second later she sees a flash of lightning. She counts the seconds and makes it to twenty before she hears the distant rumble of thunder. Still fairly far away then. She remembers learning in school that the number of seconds between lightning and thunder were the number of miles away the storm was, but she wasn’t sure if that actually was accurate or just a wives tale. The wind is still whipping through the trees and the clouds are moving fast above her. Twenty miles won’t matter much. The storm will be here soon. And she wants to be outside to greet it. 

She’s always loved the rain, especially warm summer rains, and it is August. She’s never much minded getting wet. And right now the particular violence of a thunderstorm appeals to her. So she turns from the window and pads out of the room, opulent and dark, nothing like the rooms of her youth, but fitting in a place called Black Manor. She mostly found herself in the rooms that Narcissa had redone, light, airy, fitting of the woman who had come out of the war, but some days, the closed off, musty, heavily Slytherin and dark wizard influenced rooms more fit her mood. She’s been spending more time in them the last couple months and she knows it worries Narcissa, but she’s just...she needs time.

She steps out into gardens that had once been magnificent but had grown wild in the years since Druella Black’s death. She’d died not long after the start of Hermione’s sixth year, so while the plants are wild, there aren’t any saplings encroaching on the space just yet. She’d seen the space and had planned on returning it to its former glory when they returned, but now, now she thinks it might look good the way it is. She walks into the middle of the wilding chaos and sits down on a bench with moss creeping over the stone. She doesn’t mind the uneven feel. If anything it helps to ground her in the moment.

Another flash of lightning, another slow count, fifteen seconds this time. She takes in a deep breath with the wind and can smell the petrichor now. She closes her eyes and takes slow, deep breaths trying to feel the calm before the storm. But the truth is she’s been nothing but calm for the last couple months. She hasn’t really felt it, but to everyone else that’s what she appears.

Except, perhaps, to Narcissa. She hasn’t been able to fool the other woman for a second since their reacquaintance, Hermione’s not sure she would want to at this point. The other woman has been her harbor in the storm for almost a year now. Why would she want to fool her?

Another rumble of thunder, louder, closer now. Since she didn’t see the lightning through her closed eyes she has no idea how close, but it doesn’t really matter. Outdoors might not be a safe place to be in a thunderstorm, but she finds she doesn’t much care. There are more dangerous things that she’s faced and lived. She fought a war as a child. If something so mundane as a lightning strike was the thing to take her out, well, wouldn’t that be ironic.

She opens her eyes and looks at the back of the manor and spots Narcissa in a window, looking out at her, eyebrow arched before looking past her, most likely to the horizon and the menacing clouds there before she looks back at Hermione. She tilts her head slightly, a question and a request in one. Do you want to come in? and Please come in? in one. She shakes her head slowly in reply. She needs to be out here. She can’t really put a finger on why, but it's the first thing she’s felt strongly in weeks and she’ll be damned if she doesn’t listen to it. Narcissa frowns but nods in acceptance before disappearing from the window again.

Hermione looks around. She hasn’t been this far out in the garden. There hadn’t been much time to explore before, and after, well, she just didn’t feel like it. She’s looked out the window a hundred times, but her eyes have never truly fallen on this little space. There are a few other benches around, arranged in a circle around a clearing, a statue covered in ivy in the center, too obscured to even guess at what it had once been. Hermione thinks she probably wouldn’t want to know anyway. Anyone who the Blacks would think to have as a statue in their garden, honoring them in one way or another wasn’t someone she would probably think deserved it. If anyone, it was probably some old wizard from time immemorial who would want someone like her dead. 

And despite everything, that’s one thing that’s a bridge too far. She hasn’t stopped for death yet, and she doesn’t plan on it. Not yet anyway.

Another flash, she doesn’t even get to five this time before the thunder is roaring overhead. The wind whips around her now, cutting through her t-shirt like it isn’t there. The leaves rustle behind her promising a bit of every day disaster. The air feels more alive around her than it has for so long and she soaks it in. Her magic feels the energy around them and it’s waking up slowly, crawling along her skin, warm and alive after feeling almost numb. It feels like a limb finally reawakening, the pins and needles pricking tears at the corners of her eyes. She looks up to the sky again and takes another breath.

She feels the first drop on her forehead and closes her eyes. The tears at the corners slip out, slowly crawling down her cheek and then her neck to soak into the collar of her t-shirt. And after the first two, more come as quickly as she can produce them. And yet she makes no sound, even as the tears pour out of her.

Another drop, this one on her cheek. 

_“There’s magic in the rain, Mini.” Her mother smiles down at her as they both sit on the little reading nook in the window of Hermione’s bedroom. Hermione frowns at her mother. She had wanted to go to the park today, but the rain had ruined it. Couldn’t the weather have let her go? She liked playing at the park with the other children._

_Her mother laughs at Hermione’s frown. She scoops her up and flings her onto her hip, groaning a bit. “You’re getting to be such a big girl, I’m not sure how much longer I can carry you.” She tweaks her nose playfully, but in her eyes is the sweet sadness of a parent watching their child grow before their eyes._

_Hermione just perks up at the words big girl. Of course she was a big girl and she was the smartest too. All her parents’ friends and her grandparents said so. “That’s ok, I can walk!”_

_“Of course you can, dearheart, but I do so like to carry you too.” She swings Hermione around and then sets her down on the other side of the room. “Now, why don’t we change you into some old clothes and then we can go out in the backyard and play in the rain and I’ll show you just magical the rain can be, huh?”_

_Hermione smiles up at her mom. “Ok mummy!”_

A sob rips through her at the memory. Her mother had been so good, so kind, so loving. She loved her with all of her heart. She still did. But it’s so hard now. Another shuddering breath, choked by the tears running down the back of her throat, another drop of rain on her other cheek.

_It’s raining when Hermione opens the door, expecting to find her friend Liz on the other side to start their sleepover, her mother in the car waving from the curb, but it’s certainly not Liz. She looks up at the woman before her, in clothes she’s never seen before and an honest to goodness witch’s hat._

_“Uh, hello, how can I help you?” Hermione asks, falling back on the manners her parents had taught her because she doesn’t know what else to do._

_The woman smiles down at her. “Are your parents around, dear?”_

_She nods, would’ve nodded anyway even if they hadn’t been. That was just common sense of course. “Mum, Dad!” She calls back into the house._

_Her mom pops down the stairs, smiling, out of sight from the woman in the doorway. “Is Liz here?”_

_Hermione shakes her head and her mom frowns, confused, coming to stand by her daughter in the doorway. She takes one look at the woman and the frown morphs into something of a scowl._

_“Hello, can I help you?”_

_“I’m Professor Minerva McGonnagall from Hogwarts School. If I may I’d like to come in and discuss your daughter and her admission. She’s a bright, intelligent young girl and we think she would be lovely to have at our school.”_

_Her mother is suspicious. “That sounds lovely and all, but you’ll forgive me if I’m a bit skeptical. How did you hear about our Hermione?”_

_“Oh, our school has monitors out across the entire British Isles to monitor for students we think would suit. I have materials explaining our school and its selection process, if you would like them.” She smiles and remains calm throughout and Hermione has to wonder just how other people react to this woman on their doorstep. Something tells her that her mother’s reaction isn’t even close to being the worst._

_“Ok,” her mother says slowly, “come in.” And steps out of the way, pulling Hermione with her so the woman can pass._

_Minerva McGonagall steps into their foyer and closes the door behind her, producing a length of carved wood and waving it a bit before a burst of warm air flows by them and the robes she’s wearing are magically dry. Something in Hermione sits up and takes notice. How had she done that? And why did she feel like somehow she could do that too?_

_She smiles down at Hermione with understanding eyes. “There are a great many things we have to discuss, Miss Granger, but first among them is that you are a witch and Hogwarts is a school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”_

_She feels her eyes widen and her gaze darts to the rain outside. Perhaps there is magic, real magic, in the rain after all._

Would she go back to that day and deny her place in this society if she knew what would happen? Harry and Ron are wonderful, everything that she’s learned spectacular, but is it worth it? She tilts her head forward again and looks at the ground. Black family land. Would she give up Narcissa? Could she?

Another drop lands cold on the back of her neck, and no, she doesn’t think she could.

_She walks into a newly reconstructed Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, breathing in the smell of new stone and freshly set mortar. It feels rather odd, smelling something new at Hogwarts, outside of the greenhouses. But still, she’s glad to be back. There’s more to learn here in these hallowed halls, more knowledge in the library that she desperately needs access to. And she does want to pass her N.E.W.T.s herself instead of relying on being the Golden Girl to get her places in the world. She’s determined to earn her way on merit, not fame, and this is the first step, being here. Waiting a year longer, to make sure she’s equipped with the right knowledge won’t hurt, so much as she feels that very Gryffindor itch of impatience to go off headfirst without much thought, it isn’t the right move here._

_So she waits with everyone else in the N.E.W.T.s DADA 7th year class, a mix of people in her year come back to finish up and actual 7th years. Ginny and Luna are beside her, all of them waiting to see who the new DADA professor is. They hadn’t been at the start of term feast. There were rumors floating around that newly instated Headmistress McGonagall had a bear of a time finding someone, that she might have not found someone yet, but Hermione is sure she has, otherwise, well, they wouldn’t be sitting in this classroom right now. There were still more rumors floating around that the only person that would take such an obviously cursed job, especially after the war, was someone who was desperate to prove something. Hermione wonders if that might be true. The curse on the position should be lifted with Voldemort’s death, but who really knew. Perhaps it could get worse._

_The clicking of heels sounds outside the doorway, coming up the hall steadily. The class falls silent and watches the door carefully, all of them subconsciously holding their breath. The heels stop outside the door and it pushes open to reveal Narcissa Malfoy, though not a Malfoy for much longer if the Daily Prophet this morning had been right. It had announced her filing for divorce from Lucius as he sat in Azkaban and would for five more years, a light sentence considering his crimes and his last second turn to the light. Narcissa herself had been acquitted early on in the trials. Harry had spoken on her behalf. She’d been the only reason the war had been won. And now here she was._

_The woman definitely had something to prove._

_“Good morning,” she says, stepping into the room, heels clicking against the stone once again as she strides forward towards the chalkboard. “I’m sure a great many of you know of me considering the events of the recent past. As such, if you would please call me Professor Black while I instruct this course that would suit.”_

_Quiet murmurs broke through the whole class. A death eater’s wife teaching them DADA? Really? What was McGonagall thinking?_

_“I assure you,” Professor Black says, stepping forward towards their tables the ghost of a smirk on her face, “the most qualified person to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, is someone who knows the breadth and depth of the Dark Arts themselves. I know what spells are practical to know and what aren’t, despite the Ministry standards for the N.E.W.T.s. You all may think that this might be useless information now that the war is over, but I assure you, it isn’t. Many witches and wizards, while not of the same caliber as the Dark Lord, are still out there, and still waiting for an opportune time to strike. It’s best you all be ready.” She turns to the blackboard and waves her wand. Notes on Occlumency and Legilimency cover the surface. “Now, under ordinary circumstances you aren’t taught these skills unless you have need for them in the Ministry in one capacity or another, but I find that to be a gross oversight. As such we’ll start there. Does anyone have any experience with these skills?” She faces them again but no one raises their hands._

_Hermione frowns and finally puts a hand up in the air. Professor Black’s eyes rest on hers and she nods. “I have some limited experience with Occlumency. I learned for...reasons.” Everyone in the room knows the reasons and she really would rather not explain them. She’s trying to put the war behind her. They all are._

_“Do you know your proficiency level?” She gestures behind her to the board where they’re listed, basic, intermediate, advanced, vault, and top secret with short descriptions._

_She reads them quickly and frowns. “Somewhere between intermediate and advanced, but I haven’t been truly tested.”_

_The Professor nods. “Very good for what I assume was a very self-taught skill. Would you like to be tested now to find out? I can perform such tests if you would like but there is no obligation to do so at this time.”_

_Hermione takes a deep breath and looks at the woman, taking her in slowly. Did she trust her enough? “Just how good of a Legilimens are you, Professor?”_

_The corresponding levels of Legilimency are on the board opposite Occlumency, basic, intermediate, advanced, safe cracker, and threat. “I have tested beyond the top certification in each. It is an inborn magical skill of mine.”_

_So she could crack Hermione like a walnut easily. She could split her open easily and know every single secret she had. She purses her lips for a moment. What secrets did she have that really mattered anymore? Well, beyond her own self anyway. And if it were just herself at risk._

_“Would it be useful for the class to see such a thing?”_

_The older woman nodded. “It would, I assume some of you will go into the ministry and need such training and testing in the future, so to know the process certainly won’t hurt.”_

_“Alright then.”_

_“Excellent.” Another wave of her wand and a pair of chairs were at the front of the room. She waves Hermione up to take a seat in one of them, gracefully sitting in the other. A bowl full of slips of paper flies into her hand as Hermione stands and walks towards the front. She holds it out as Hermione sits down. “Take a slip, memorize the word on it, then put it away where I can’t see it.”_

_Hermione nods and takes a slip and cups it in her palm to open it. Daffodil, the slip reads. She frowns. How fitting. Daffodil for Narcissa Malfoy. She tucks the slip away in a pocket and takes a deep breath. She’s a bit out of practice with her occlumency shields. She hadn’t seen the need to keep them up after the war had ended, and she had been so tired anyway. But they settle into place easily enough after a moment. She looks back up at Professor Black and tilts her head. She’s ready as she will be._

_“Good, the rules from here are simple, keep me from finding out what the word is for as long as you can. The test is graded on both the amount of effort I have to put forward and the amount of time you withstand the attack at a certain degree of difficulty. When you feel that you’ve gone as far as you can in terms of difficulty, nod, then I will see how long from there it takes to break through.”_

_“Ok.”_

_“Then let us begin.”_

_Hermione immediately feels the press of another mind against hers, barely there though, feels the Professor caressing her shields, examining them, but not really breaching them. The first level, basic, was mostly just about_ having _shields in the first place that weren’t immediately penetrable. She knew she had that part down. Another few seconds and the intensity increased. The weight on her mind became a focused push. Hermione took a breath in, keeping the image of a forest in her mind, walking down the path slowly, thinking only of what she would see if she were in such a forest. She could almost feel herself there she’s so focused on it._

_Professor Black hums, pleased, and from a distance Hermione can hear her speak. “Miss Granger is employing a decent beginner strategy, focusing solely on an image or scenario hard enough that there are no other thoughts in her head. It’s good to deter casual information seekers, but the true goal of occlumency is for the other party not to know you’re doing so at all. We’ll go over strategies on how to do so as class continues.”_

_The intensity turns up again and Hermione grits her teeth. She can feel the forest around her shaking as if a giant was plowing through it. But things aren’t flickering yet. She can still take more, if only barely. She takes in another deep breath and focuses so hard she knows she’ll have a headache at the end of this, but well, the point is to test the depth of her skills, so it’s worth it._

_She feels the exact moment where Professor Black almost breaks through and nods quickly. The older witch raises an interested eyebrow before nodding back, keeping at that same pressure and Hermione does everything she can to hold on. Things are starting to fade around her, she’s losing the texture of the trees, the feel of the ground beneath her feet, the bird song above. The unrelenting pressure is all consuming but damn it she’s not going to give in without a fight. She concentrates harder, feeling her brow crease, feeling sweat on her forehead, and then everything shatters and she’s in a field of daffodils as her memories whip around her, one after the other after the other, an unrelenting swirl of color. She feels the pressure lessen and her memories swirl to a stop, stopping on one she’d rather die than see again._

“Obliviate,” she whispers, wand pointed at her parents. Their faces are worried, and then they’re blank and a bit confused. She hands them their new passports and other ID, hands her father the keys and ushers them out slowly to the car. They have a flight to catch.

_And then it’s gone, another in its place, her reading a book on memory restoration after spellwork induced memory loss. She can feel the moment the Professor understands her mission for the year and then she’s gone from Hermione’s mind, but not before leaving the thought,_

“Stay after class if you would, Miss Granger.”

_Hermione blinks and she’s back in the classroom._

_“Now, I believe the word you had was daffodil, was it not?” Professor Black asks._

_Hermione nods slowly, still reeling from everything that’s happened._

_“As I thought. Miss Granger you’re remarkably well taught for having to learn on your own, you were two seconds shy of qualifying for advanced. I would say by the end of our lessons on this that qualification will be easy for you.” She stood, offering Hermione her hand. Hermione takes it and stands on rather wobbling knees before she walks back to her seat and sits down. Ginny and Luna both look a bit worried but she waves them off. She’s fine if a bit confused. Why would Narcissa Black want to talk to her after class after seeing her memories?_

_Class passes quickly, how could it not. She takes notes as always, but finds herself rather distracted, almost on autopilot. When the bell rings to signal class change everyone else stands. She gestures for Ginny and Luna to go on, they have a break together before Potions which they were planning on spending together._

_“I’ll catch up, I just need to talk to the Professor for a second.”_

_Ginny scowls and steps closer, whispering. “She didn’t do anything funny to you, did she?”_

_“No,” Hermione assures. Not yet anyway._

_“Ok, but I’ll hex a professor if need be, keep that in mind.” She cocks a fiery eyebrow before taking Luna’s hand and pulling her away. Luna hums happily and tucks herself against the red head. Hermione’s head tilts, looking at them walk from the room. Something about how Luna is wrapped around Ginny screams that Harry might have competition. Then again, remembering the summer and all the celebrations...she’d seen Luna do the same to Harry. Maybe it was just Luna being Luna? Or maybe it wasn’t a competition at all…_

_She turns to Professor Black as the room is empty, walking towards the front of the room with her packed bag. “You wanted to talk to me, Professor?”_

_“Yes, Miss Granger. I would like to apologize for prying earlier, but...I think it might be of benefit to you in the long run. I have,” she swallows audibly, “some rather advanced experience with memory charms myself. I have performed a restoration that St. Mungos thought impossible. I might be the best person to help you restore your parent’s memories, if you wish my help.”_

_Hermione gasped in a breath. “What sort of restoration, what spell?”_

_The Professor looks away. “I replicated the effects of what someone would experience were they under the Imperius for years at a time, and then I managed to undo it as well.”_

_Hermione stares at her with wide eyes. She knows exactly what she’s confessing to in that moment. Lucius Malfoy had stayed out of jail in the first war claiming Imperius. He’d had the memory gaps to prove it. A great many Death Eaters had tried the same defense, but while they’d obscured enough of their intent to get off of charges, they were still fined and shunted away from society, at least somewhat. Lucius had been so thoroughly cleared he had been in even better standing than before, a victim of war, not an actor. And it had all been because of this woman before her. It had allowed Lucius to be in perfect position to usher in Voldemort the second time, to put in place all those actors he needed to help secure the ministry when it was time, so much of that had been possible because Lucius Malfoy had gotten off scot free._

_“Why?” is all Hermione thinks to ask._

_The older witch meets her eyes again. “Because I would do anything to protect the people I love.”_

_“Then why let him go down now?”_

_A sheen of ice crosses her gaze. Hermione doesn’t know if she’s seen anything quite as chilling. “Because his actions endangered Draco.” Her grip on her wand becomes so tight Hermione can see her fingers turn white with the pressure. “And five years is nothing in the scheme of things. Not after the last three. Not after I begged him to leave the war behind, to flee. I learned after the first war. He did not.”_

_“Then why didn’t you flee with Draco instead?”_

_“Because at the time I still loved him and wouldn’t leave his side, even if he was making a terrible mistake. I couldn’t leave him to the tender mercies of the Dark Lord on his own.” She sighs heavily. “But he needs time to learn. And Azkaban will teach him far more effectively than I could ever manage. I’m done picking up the pieces for a man who refuses to see reason.”_

_Hermione nods slowly. “Ok then, I do need help. I could use all I can get.”_

_Narcissa smiles at her, all trace of ice gone. “Good. I’m glad to help. I feel it is the least I could do after everything.”_

_“The library then, after dinner?”_

_“Come by my quarters after dinner. We’ll start with exactly what you did, and then with my personal books on the matter to see if they have anything helpful before starting with the library, massive as it is.”_

_“Ok then.” She gives the woman a hesitant smile and turns on her heel, walking out to find Ginny and Luna, wherever they went._

The storm finally breaks around her, the drop of two here or there turns into a steady rain. It’s warm and her tears blend with it easily. She’d had such hope that first day of term. They both had. 

She stands from the bench and moves towards the statue. She needs to know who it is, at least for distractions sake if nothing else. She points her wand at it, willing the ivy away and it retreats to reveal Paracelsus. She laughs and shakes her head. Of course it would be him. Mediwizard who discovered half his cures by treating muggles like lab rats and discoverer of Parseltongue. That would be someone who the Black family idolized. She casts again the ivy covers him. And then after a second she decides against it and a bombarda is flying at the stone, rendering it into dust. It wasn’t enough. Her magic awake as it was now screamed to be let loose. But she just takes in another breath and turns away from the pedestal where the statue used to be.

She walks farther into the garden instead, eyes barely taking in where she was going, rain soaking her to the skin, lightning flashing above her. A huge boom of thunder rumbles practically in her ear and she jumps.

_Hermione looks at the book that Professor Black had slapped down in front of her. It had been three months. It was almost the winter holidays now and they had made some progress, but not a great deal. All signs pointed to that there was a solution, just...not what that actually was._

_“I think this is it,” Professor Black said, pulling up a chair in front of Hermione at the library table they were sharing, in the back, out of the way, somewhere no students ever ventured to. There were far more convenient study tables elsewhere._

_Her head whips up from looking at the book to looking at her Professor. “Really?”_

_The older witch nods. “At least the beginning of it. I’ve tabbed the pages.” She pushes the tome forward and Hermione snatches it eagerly._

_She flips to the first tab and reads through everything twice, then the next and the next. A potion for people who had been obliviated. A potion brewed in the place of the strongest memories by a person who knew them best with a list of ingredients all magically influenced to help memory. Of course, that was all the book had on the subject, not brewing time, or steps, or anything else useful, but that was the closest they had gotten. And the situations listed under when the potion would be most useful had said ‘accidental obliviation of memories of an important person in the recipients lives’ and that was_ definitely _the closest they’d gotten to what Hermione had done to her parents._

_“Have you heard of this potion they mention before?” Hermione asks, looking up._

_Professor Black shakes her head. “No, I’ve already asked Slughorn as well, but he hasn’t heard of it either. Considering the age of this book, it’s likely no one is alive who might remember its use if it was once commonplace. Obliviation used to be even more dangerous than it is now.”_

_Hermione hums her agreement. She’d come to the same conclusion after all the reading they’d done over the past three months. She’d yet to find just how the practice improved with time, though, that never seemed to be mentioned in the books she was reading, but she’s sure it's somewhere in the library if only she looks hard enough._

_“For once this would be where Professor Snape would come in handy, wouldn’t it?” Hermione asks, sighing. If anyone on this earth would’ve had the knowledge it would’ve been him, but that does her little good with him dead for over six months. She would have put up with his snark gladly if it meant that she finally found the answer._

_“Yes, well, we’re two highly intelligent and capable witches, dear. We’ll find it on our own. We just have to shift our focus to the potion section of the library.” She thumbs the edge of the yellowed book. “And look for something at least this old, if not older. I think that might be the key as well.”_

_Hermione groans and sets her head on the table. “Thank you, Professor, really, this is a great help.” And yet she still sighs again. She had been hoping to go home to the Burrow for Christmas and see Ron and Harry and everyone, but now, well, she only had so much time with access to the library. She knew McGonagall would let her in as much as she needed after she graduated, but then she would have a job too and, no, it was just easier if she stayed and continued looking now instead of later. And to be completely honest, she wanted her parents back as soon as possible._

_A hand settles on one of her own and squeezes gently. “As much time as we’re spending together outside of class, I think you’ve earned the privilege of calling me by my given name, Hermione.”_

_She looks up at the woman, setting her chin on the table, but sitting up no farther. “Thank you, Narcissa. Really. I don’t know where I would be without you.” Quite simply she would be a lot farther behind. Narcissa read almost as fast as she did. They had covered tome after tome in half the time it would’ve taken a team of four regular researchers._

_“You would have gotten there eventually on your own. I have complete faith in you. But having help is certainly not the end of the world. And after everything…” she trails off and looks at Hermione’s left arm and looks away. “It still is the very least I can do.”_

_Hermione turns her hand and laces her fingers through Narcissa’s. “You know, I don’t blame you for that, right?”_

_Narcissa blinks at her, rather stunned. “How could you not?”_

_“Protecting Draco meant keeping your mouth shut, same as protecting Harry meant keeping mine shut. Merlin begins to know what would’ve happened if you had tried to stop B-B-Bellatrix, but I don’t think it would’ve worked out favorably for either of us. Any blame I might have laid at your feet died the second it was clear which side you were on. It wasn’t as if I ever got the impression you enjoyed watching what she did to me.”_

_Narcissa shivers violently. “No,” she whispers, “No, I certainly did not.”_

_Hermione clears her throat and stands. “Well, I’m going to start grabbing some potential books from the potion section.” She gives Narcissa one last squeeze before she drops her hand and finds that she misses the warmth of it already. “I’m sure I’ll spend all of Christmas break looking. Happy Christmas to me.” It will be if she finds what she needs, but still._

_“You’re staying?” Narcissa stands with her. “But I thought you planned on visiting the Weasley’s?”_

_“I had hoped to, but…” she trails off knowing Narcissa will understand._

_“Then spend at least Christmas Day with Draco and I. He’s staying as well and we’re celebrating in my quarters. I had hoped Black Manor would be ready in time, but the place is still so filled with darkness, I’d rather not go there just yet. Perhaps at the end of the school year.”_

_She blinks up at the woman. “Really?”_

_“Really, Hermione. No one should be alone on Christmas. And you shouldn’t be alone in the library of all places. I can help you look in-between various events I’m planning to attend over break as well.”_

_Hermione bites her lip to keep from tearing up. Honestly it’s one of the nicest gestures from anyone she’s ever received. “Thank you, Narcissa. For everything.”_

_“Of course, dear. Of course.”_

The part of the garden she ends up in is closer to the treeline, darker, wilder, smelling of loam and decaying underbrush. There are beautiful wildflowers blooming, a bright purple, Narcissa’s favorite color. She walks forward and picks a small bouquet of them. Narcissa will like them, she’s sure. She ties them together with a summoned length of string and then banishes them to the kitchen table that they take all of their meals at. The other woman will see them eventually and she’s sure that they’ll make her smile. It makes her smile for at least an instant, before she finds herself walking again.

The wind howls around her and she wonders idly if the storm is bad enough there might be a tornado. She glances up at the sky again, but the clouds are just dark grey and menacing, not a sickly green-grey. It’s a bad storm, but not quite that bad. Hermione snorts. It would’ve been more fitting for her if it was.

She finds a fountain, not running, water in the pool green with algae and a few frogs splashing in it. The topper of the fountain is the Black family crest, the motto carved underneath, still visible even with all the green encroaching. Toujours Pur. She laughs quietly and wonders just what the ancient Blacks who came up with such a pompous phrase would think of Hermione being here, on their land, and reading their motto. She rather thought they would be trying to kill her. But she had proved much harder to kill than anyone had ever thought. And they were all dead and buried. All of the Blacks were, save for two. What had their bigotry gotten them in the end? Nothing.

Though it isn’t as if Hermione could say that she had much more. She closes her eyes. That was an unfair thought. She had a great deal. She did. She just didn’t...she didn’t have everything she wanted. But people so rarely did, didn’t they? Shouldn’t she be happy for what she did have? She probably should, but right now it felt as if a dam was breaking inside her and she couldn’t stop it, felt the rain pounding against it, felt everything coming to a head and all she could do was continue to walk through the garden and let it happen. She knows she needs this. Something did have to give. Something always gave.

 _She knocks on the door to Narcissa’s quarters like she has a hundred times before, but now she feels nervous about it. After all, she hadn’t celebrated Christmas with anyone other than her parents or the Weasleys and Harry since, well, ever. She isn’t exactly sure what to expect and she’s very, very nervous over the two packages she’s holding in her arms. Less nervous about the wine though, that she knows is at least decent wine. She pushes down_ why _she knows that, pushes down seeing her self-proclaimed wine snob mom open bottles of this same red a dozen times over after a day at the office, pushes all of that down until she can just feel at least some pride that she hadn’t come empty handed to someone’s house, just as she was taught._

_Narcissa opens the door after a second, smiling down at Hermione. “Ah, Hermione, come in, come in.”_

_She steps in to find Draco already there, looking at her like he can’t quite believe his eyes. She knows Narcissa had told him she’d be there, but she doesn’t think that he’d actually believed it until now. She waves at him with a smile. Or more accurately she waves the bottle of red at him since her hands are full still._

_“Hi Draco,” she says. Their rivalry has faded over the past few months, but still, there is a bit of tension there, neither of them quite knowing how to talk to the other in the aftermath. It’s civil, though, and maybe this will help them on the path to becoming...maybe not friends, but something at least a bit better acquainted._

_“Hello Granger.”_

_Narcissa takes the bottle of red from her with a smile. “You didn’t have to bring anything, Hermione.”_

_She shrugs and blushes, looking away from the pleased look on the other woman’s face. “No, but it is the polite thing to do.”_

_“Well then, why don’t we open this to breathe and we can have it with dinner.” She bustles off to the little kitchenette in her quarters and Hermione stands there watching for a moment before she looks away again. Narcissa has always drawn her eye. She’s an incredibly beautiful woman, but for the last couple months, well, Hermione’s been having trouble looking away. She shakes herself enough to go to the little Christmas tree with gifts under it and places the two she’d brought down, one with Draco’s name, one with Narcissa’s, before turning around again and going to sit in the living area with Draco._

_“I thought you’d be off with Potter and Weasel,” Draco says looking her over. “I was surprised when Mother said you were coming.”_

_Hermione pauses, unsure of how to answer his unspoken question without giving away more than she wanted. “I had some things to work on over break,” she says simply. It isn’t untrue even if she knows Draco is about to sneer and call her a know it all or something of the like._

_Instead he nods and shrugs his shoulders. “Must be something important then. I imagine the Weasel’s family was rather distraught you weren’t coming to their place for the holidays.”_

_“They were, but they understood eventually.” She’d had to explain more of what she was doing than she really wanted to, but the letter she’d gotten from Molly afterwards had been soft, assuring her that she should take her time then, and that she always had a home with them when need be. It had been sweet, but it had just made her miss her own mother more._

_Drao looks over at his own mother and a small smile flickers across his face before it’s back to Slytherin blankness. “She’s pleased you’re here though. Hasn’t been able to stop talking about it all week.”_

_Hermione’s heart flutters in her chest as she looks at the woman, pulling the cork from the bottle with a bit of magic and setting it aside to breathe. She fusses over a few dishes on the small stove and nods. The fact that Narcissa knows how to cook is a bit surprising, really. She thought that they would have whatever the rest of Hogwarts is having for Christmas dinner, but it appears not to be so._

_“It’s been a bright spot to look forward to for me as well,” Hermione admits softly, eyes finding Draco’s again and his look is almost_ too _understanding. She’s not sure exactly what it all means but it makes her squirm in her seat. What did he know that she didn’t?_

_“Well, dinner will be ready in twenty or so,” Narcissa says, striding over to them both with a soft smile. She sets her hands on Draco’s shoulder and squeezes lovingly. Hermione looks at the picture of the two of them. She’s always thought that Draco looks more like his father, but side by side, it was undeniable that he was her son. His jawline was the same and his nose as well. His hair was more Narcissa’s shade of blonde than Lucius’s silver white. How had she not noticed before now? She wonders idly if Narcissa’s genes would express so readily in another child, perhaps this one with brown eyes? But she stops that thought before it even really has time to form._

_“It already smells delicious,” Hermione says instead, and it does. It smells like roasting meat and redcurrant jam, the warmth of vanilla and cinnamon underscoring everything. It smells like her home did at Christmas and she swallows around the lump in her throat. She’ll have all of this back soon. She will. She has to believe it._

_“Thank you dear.” Narcissa steps away from Draco towards the tree. “But in the meantime why don’t get to everyone’s favorite part of Christmas.” She bends down and pulls out a package and hands it to Hermione. It’s carefully wrapped in thick foil embossed paper with little flashing wands and dancing marshmallows. It’s delightful._

_She smiles and looks up at Narcissa. “You didn’t have to get me anything.” Nonetheless she’s so pleased that the sides of her face might split in two._

_“Neither did you, and yet.” She picks up the two gifts from Hermione and hands Draco’s to him._

_“Well, way to catch me flatfooted Granger. What kind of gentleman am I, not having a gift for you in return,” he teases. He looks like he wants to rip the paper off like a four year old, but restrains himself, looking to his mother, obviously waiting for her to go first._

_“You can make it up to me by telling me just how you got your Amortentia so perfect in potions right before break.” She admits she was rather distracted and her brew had turned out ok, but not her level best. It was hard to concentrate when the room smelled of gardenias and old parchment and the barest hint of cardamom. It was different than what she had smelled her sixth year. And it had been even more distracting when she realized why the scent was so familiar. It smelled like her nights at the library with Narcissa._

_“Well, I can certainly do that. About time you realized that I’m the expert in potions between the two of us.” He smirks and wiggles his eyebrows and Hermione rolls her eyes in return._

_“Yes, yes, not all of us had a potions master for a godfather, oh ye Prince of Slytherin.”_

_Narcissa snorts quietly and the both of them look at her, drawn back into her sphere once again. “I’m beginning to see why so many of Draco’s letters home were focused on you, Hermione. The banter is rather scintillating.”_

_“Mother!” Draco exclaims and Hermione snickers. Aw, younger Draco had been obsessed enough with her to write home about her? How sweet. She snickers some more._

_“I’m sure the letter saying I punched him in the nose went over well,” Hermione says around more laughter._

_“Most assuredly.” And there’s a teasing spark in Narcissa’s eyes. They both remember Diagon Alley and the words Narcissa had spoken there, but now...now they certainly carried less bite._

_“Oh Merlin, just for this I’m going first and neither of you can stop me,” Draco says, ripping into his present, tearing the wrapping off with little regard to where the pieces fell. After a second he sits back, package still half unwrapped as his eyes find Hermione’s. “How did you know I even liked these? Bloody hell, how did you even find them?”_

_Her eyes flicker to Narcissa. It hasn’t just been books they’ve been talking about all these months. They have talked about a great deal of other things over late nights in the library. She’s gotten to know the other witch, and by proxy everything that’s important to her. Of course Draco is the most important thing and she’d talked about him a fair amount. Including his favorite, and rather hard to find candy. A muggle candy of all things, Abba Zabba bars. How in the world Draco had managed to find them to try them, she has no idea, considering they were more of a Western US sort of thing, but he had, and had a bear of a time finding more. The internet made it easy enough for her, though on a rare day out of the castle._

_“Narcissa told me.” She shrugs. “They’re easy enough to find if you know where to look.”_

_He rips into the box. “I’m eating one now, and I’m saving the rest to shove in my face after N.E.W.T.s.”_

_“Isn’t your birthday in June?” She asks. “You always could get another box then, couldn’t you?” She cocks an eyebrow at him._

_He just stares, as if he’s unsure why she would do that, but. Well, she’s friends with Narcissa, and making Narcissa happy was as easy as making Draco happy. A twenty dollar box of candy was easy enough. She looks at the older woman and finds her looking at Hermione with amazement. She’d told Hermione of the lengths she’d gone to find the bar for Draco, but remaining in the Wizarding world and trying to find them was rather hard. She had just gone straight for the muggle world and skipped the struggle._

_“Granger, if you want to supply me with these bars and Christmas and my birthday I won’t say no. Bloody hell.” He rips open a package and stuffs taffy and peanut butter into it and chews slowly, sighing at the taste._

_“Well, if you’re this quiet on receiving them, it’s also a gift for me, isn’t it?”_

_He glares but keeps chewing nonetheless._

_“How in the world did you find them?” Narcissa asks finally._

_“Internet.” Which draws about as much understanding from the witch as explaining advanced potion concepts to a muggle would. She snorts. “I’ll show you next Hogsmeade weekend. We just need to pop over to the nearest muggle town with an internet cafe.”_

_“Granger, you’re saying words and I think I understand about every other one,” Draco snarks through a mouthful of taffy._

_Narcissa nods her agreement._

_“Then you can come along too. It’ll be a family outing.” She freezes at the phrasing but only for a second. Any longer than that and she knows Narcissa will sense her unease. Family outing? Why had she phrased it like that?_

_“Fine.” He shrugs and takes another bite. “Can’t be as impressive as magic.”_

_Hermione laughs. “Oh, it’ll seem like magic to you, Ferret, just you wait.”_

_Narcissa clears her throat and looks back at the package Hermione has in her hands. “Be that as it may, perhaps we should continue?” She seems a bit excited now, eyes sparkling and coming the closest Hermione’s seen to honest to god wiggling she’s seen Narcissa Black ever do._

_Hermione nods. “Fair enough.” She runs her fingers over the paper again before deciding that she’d rather not rip it to shreds. It feels...too important somehow. Like she might want to remember this. So she wandlessly severs the sticking charms holding the paper in place and it falls open to reveal an old fashioned key and a sea green bottle, empty, but buzzing with contained magic. She picks it up and her eyes widen. She’s felt the feeling before._

_“A portkey?” She asks._

_Narcissa nods. “To the town your parents live in currently. Arranged to transport you two weeks after graduation so you have time to get everything in order for the trip. Everything is registered and cleared with both our ministry of magic and the Australian one. It will take you back whenever you request it. It’s landing point here is at Black Manor so there’s no need to worry about timing. Just whenever you’re ready.” She swallows visibly. “And if...if you would like company on your journey, Hermione, I would be more than happy to accompany you.”_

_She looks up at the woman with wide eyes. Out of all the gifts she’s ever gotten this has to be the most meaningful. But there’s still one more part she doesn’t yet understand. “And the key?”_

_“To Black Manor’s library. If we can’t find the answers here, they will be there, I’m sure. Of course it still needs a few months to be rid of the dark magic, but, when it’s done, you’re welcome anytime.”_

_Hermione feels tears in her eyes as she stands and walks forward to Narcissa. She reaches for her hands and takes them. Staring up into bright blue eyes she lets a few slip. “Thank you Narcissa. Thank you. I’d be honored if you would come with me.” Honestly she knows she’s most likely going to need the moral support of the other witch. To see her parents again after so long, it will be hard enough, but if it doesn’t work? She’ll never manage to get back home without someone at her side, and Narcissa...Narcissa is the only person she trusts to do so. Harry and Ron would understand but...no. Only Narcissa._

_She pulls the older witch into a hug and relaxes into her grip as Narcissa returns the gesture, present poking into Hermione’s back but she doesn’t care. Narcissa smells like gardenias and cardamom and old parchment and of Christmas dinner. She smells like home._

_She draws back at a minute and gestures at Narcissa’s present. “Your turn then.” And she smiles a teary smile, desperately hoping that her gift measures up in any way to the other witches._

_Narcissa unwraps the present, somewhere between Hermione’s restraint and Draco’s over enthusiasm. She gasps at the box of chocolates on top, and looks up at Hermione. “How did you manage to get these while at school?”_

_That had taken more than the internet, but since she was an adult and a war hero, well, it hadn’t been that hard. She’d just asked the Headmistress if she could spend a weekend off campus and McGonagall had seen no point in disagreeing. Hermione was planning on doing it anyway, even if she was told no, they both knew it. And she had gotten out of far tougher situations than just walking off Hogwarts grounds and apparating away to where she needed. From there it was an international portkey and a delightful day spent in Belgium eating her weight in frites and chocolate. It had been a decent weekend and Narcissa’s favorite muggle chocolate shop had been worth the trip. Hermione would dream about the chocolate there, she was sure._

_“I find that asking usually works for me.” She shrugs. Draco snorts and rolls his eyes, already eyeing another candy bar, but Narcissa, without even looking at him, sends the box flying across the room with a flick of her wand._

_“No spoiling your dinner.”_

_And Hermione laughs and laughs because if that isn’t the most mom thing she’s seen Narcissa do, she doesn’t know what is, and Merlin, it’s endearing. She wants to hug the other woman again but stops herself. Two hugs in as many minutes seems a bit much._

_“Thank you,” Narcissa says, popping the lid and taking one of the caramels, her favorite, Hermione remembers, and taking a slow bite, closing her eyes and humming and oh fuck, her breath may have stopped in her throat. But she manages to breath again a few seconds later when Narcissa opens her eyes again. “It’s been years. Couldn’t buy them after the war started again, and since...well there hasn’t been time. Thank you.”_

_“Of course.”_

_She looks back down at the other thing contained in the gift wrap. A book, plain, old, and musty, nothing seemingly special about it, but they both know better. She flips it open to the title page._ Curse Marks and Their Removal _in old script that’s hardly legible. Narcissa’s eyes flick up to Hermione’s a desperate question in them._

_“I think so. The wording indicates that it should work.” In her abundant spare time she’s been trying to find a way to get Bellatrix’s scar off of her arm, but had instead found a way to perhaps get rid of the dark mark once and for all._

_Narcissa turns to the tabbed page and reads frantically, eyes widening with every word. “Oh, Hermione, I think you’re right.” She has her wand in her hand in an instant. “Draco, darling, roll up your sleeve. Left one.”_

_“Wait, what?” He’s obviously a bit lost but does as his mother bids him. A few turns of a shirt sleeve and his dark mark is bared, faded now, but still very much visible._

_“Relego malum marcam,” she chants, wand moving in a complicated pattern and slowly, the black ink pulls from his skin and flutters over to the fire, turning the fire dark red as it burns, and just as suddenly it’s gone. Draco looks at his bare forearm and then up at his mother and then Hermione._

_“It’s gone?”_

_They both nod. He melts back into the couch in relief. Curse marks, even after their caster was dead, could do potential long term damage, perhaps even more damage after the caster was dead and the magic was no longer bound. Narcissa had been worrying about it, keeping an eye out for solutions even as they were looking in books that wouldn’t have a solution because who knew when the fix would present itself._

_All it had taken was Hermione looking for her own cure and a book that had to be at least five hundred years old, one that she was sure there were only a few copies of in all of Wizarding Europe, and now it was gone. Draco was free from that stigma and whatever other complications it may have brought. She can feel them both breathing easier as Narcissa puts the book down and takes Draco’s hand._

_“It’s gone.” She looks up at Hermione and reaches for her. Hermione steps forward and Narcissa cups her face. “Thank you, darling. I won’t ever be able to thank you enough.”_

_Hermione leans into the touch for a moment before pulling in a breath. Oh._ Oh. _She might just be in love with Narcissa Black._

Her legs start to shake as she continues walking down an ever disappearing path. The lightning strikes above her and the roll of thunder is almost instantaneous. The storm is right above her head. She couldn’t care less. She just keeps walking. This feels like something she needs to get as far away from anything structurally sound as possible. She has no idea what will happen, but she is breaking. The brightest witch of her age is finally fracturing, and she has no idea what will happen next, but her magic feels like she’s about to be the next H bomb. 

How had she gotten like this? How had it gotten this bad? She had shoved things down until she was ready to deal with them, but how had it led to this? Other people did such things every day. Harry had in their fifth year after Cedric’s death. He hadn’t come apart at the seams. Granted he had led them off to the Department of Mysteries on a rather stupid whim, but honestly even without the trauama Hermione thought he would’ve done that. If she was a Gryffindor, Harry was a Gryffindor times ten with the biggest hero complex to boot. So why her? Why like this? Why now of all times? Why almost two months later? Why?

She trips on a loose stone, or maybe it’s a root. She doesn’t look. She doesn’t care. All she knows is that her knees are hitting the ground, scraping against it, tearing skin and bleeding and she can finally feel the pain again. She’d pushed everything down for so long she’d forgotten what it was like to feel pain, even the physical kind. What did physical pain matter to her? She was already suffering more than even Bellatrix Lestrange could make her suffer. She sits back on the ground and pulls her knees out from under her, looks at the freely flowing blood and screams, the agony ripping from her, amplified by her magic, driving birds that had hunkered down for the storm to flee the area and all she can think is ‘good.’

_It’s Hermione who finds the next part of the solution finally the day before the Easter Holidays. She’s tired, so tired, she knows that she’ll have to spend more of her time studying for her N.E.W.T.s during break than researching and she’s desperate to find what she needs before then. And then she does. It’s staring at her right on the page and she has to take a minute before she really believes her eyes._

_“Narcissa,” she breathes. “Narcissa, I think I found it.”_

_Narcissa’s head shoots up. “You did?”_

_Hermione pushes the book forward. “I think so.”_

_Narcissa reads over the text quickly and then she smiles up at Hermione. “Oh my darling, you found it. And it only takes three days to brew, that’s wonderful!”_

_Hermione sits back at the little book that had almost been lost among the Hogwarts’ shelves and just stares. She’s found it. The way to get her parents back. As long as they’ve been looking, switching between potions and researching farther into memory charm reversals when one gets too frustrating, the only one they’ve found that has an actual chance of working. They found their one shot. After eight months, they have it. She finally could have her parents back._

_She takes the book back and looks over the ingredients and methods and the farther down she reads, the larger her smile becomes. For someone who brewed polyjuice potion at twelve years old, this will be nothing. It’s more about intent and place and love than it is about technique and she has all of those things in desperate spades. And she had the keys to her parent’s house outside of London for them to brew it in. Everything will be ok. Finally everything will be ok._

_She looks up at Narcissa with tears in her eyes, the first happy tears she’s cried in months and, “Narcissa, we found it. I would’ve never found this without you.” She still can’t believe it. It was right in front of her. She had the means to do it. And still._

_“I would help you look again in a heartbeat, Hermione. You deserve to have your parents back. You deserve to be happy.”_

_And then Hermione is out of her chair and launching herself at the other woman. She doesn’t even really know what she’s going to do until her hands are on Narcissa’s face and she pauses for the shortest moment to make sure it’s ok. Narcissa smiles up at her and lets her occlumency shields fall and Hermione, despite being a mediocre legilimens can see_ everything _. Narcissa is just as in love with her as she is with the older witch. So she leans down and kisses her softly. And oh Merlin, it’s everything that she’s ever wanted and more and she’s just so indescribably happy in that moment she thinks she could die with no regrets._

_They pull apart after a long minute and look at one another. “Narcissa.”_

_“Darling.”_

_Hermione slowly drops her hands from the other woman’s face. There are still two months of term left. They can’t do this quite yet. But. But that kiss seals it for the future. She’ll take her N.E.W.T.s and then Narcissa will come with her to brew the potion and then on to Australia. And then after that the world will be at their feet and they can do whatever they wish. Hermione thinks that she might want to be Minister one day, but maybe...she could see herself here too, in these hallowed halls teaching beside Narcissa. Late nights grading together by the fireplace and walks through the snowy Scottish hills. That would be a quieter life for her. For them both. And she knows that Narcissa wants to keep teaching if the curse doesn’t rear its ugly head. It’s a future. And she can see both of them in it. She wants it desperately._

_“When it’s done?” Hermione asks, still standing no more than a few inches away from Narcissa._

_The older witch nods. “When it’s done.” And she sees the beginning of a plan for a first date that involve the largest wizarding library in Europe and lots of German bread and other baked goods, sees an old family manor that is rarely used being in the middle of the Black Forest and not as scenic as the other, more southern houses that dot beaches here and there. But to Hermione it looks perfect._

_“I’d like that a lot,” she says softly and finally steps back, sitting back down in her chair and looking at the little book again with awe. She’s found it. They’ve found it. She’s so thankful, but almost at a loss as well. If they’ve found it then these nights with Narcissa don’t need to happen any longer and she grieves them already._

_Narcissa’s hand is on hers in a second. “You have studying to do. I have grading, especially this time of year.” She laughs lightly. “This doesn’t have to end. Not if we don’t want it to. Besides. Knowing more never hurt. When I don’t have grading I can keep looking to see if there are any backups we should know about.”_

_Hermione looks up at her with tears in her eyes again. This woman. She’s more than in love with this woman. She’s head over heels for her and more. But she doesn’t say the words just yet. Now isn’t the time. But it will be soon. And that’s fine with her._

She screams until her throat is raw. She screams until she tastes blood. She screams until the wind howls around her and drowns her out as the storm intensifies. She screams as the rain becomes more than just a constant shower but turns into a deluge. Idly she wonders if maybe her own pain, her own magic is making the storm worse, or if it was always going to be like this, howling wind and pouring rain, if all things were set on a predetermined path and this was always what was meant to happen. There is no good answer. There is no way to answer the question period. It’s the worst sort of question. A question that makes everyone look at moral philosophy professors and instantly roll their eyes. Why ask a question if it doesn’t have an answer?

And why are those questions somehow the most important ones?

She screams until her voice finally gives out. The rain has washed her knees clean of all the dirt, still covered in blood slowly oozing from her. The dampness not allowing the wounds to seal. She could cast to dry them, cast to heal, but no. No she can’t do that right now. She has no idea what would happen if she did. Her magic is buzzing to get out and she doesn’t trust it. It wants to destroy, not to heal. Why should she trust it? Why should she trust herself anymore? She thought that she could do it. She thought that she had found the answer.

She’d been lying to herself. 

_She looks back at Narcissa, nerves filling her eyes and voice. “Are you sure about this?” She’d debated for ages in the two months after they’d found the solution how to approach her parents. She had never found a way that she thought would actually work. Even if they don’t remember her, she left her parents exactly as they were, and just showing up and telling them flat out would get the door slammed in their face. Trying to come at the problem from another angle yielded the same result just with a delay in time._

_“I’m sure. You may have erased your life from their memory, but as a parent, you could take every single memory away from me, and I know I would still know deep down. It’s too important not to leave some sort of sense memory too deeply ingrained to register as conscious.”_

_She frowns at Narcissa, but she trusts her. She grabs the other woman’s hand and squeezes. Her hand is warm despite the fact that it feels like they’ve gone from summer to fall in the span of an afternoon temperature-wise, made worse by the fact that it’s raining. Hermione thinks it’s rather fitting that the first time her parents had found out about magic it had been raining and now it is again. It seems fitting. It seems like a sign that everything will work out. She shoves her other hand in her pocket where two vials of verdant green potion are nestled, wrapped in cushioning charms for the trip and in shatterproof glass. Not that she couldn’t make the potion again, but. Well. She had poured every single ounce of love she’s ever had for her parents into this first batch. It had been exhausting and she doesn’t know if she could do it again so quickly without some sort of buoying result._

_“Ok,” Hermione finally says before raising her hand to knock on the door of a quaint townhouse in a nice suburb of Melbourne where her parents now live as Monica and Wendell. She raps three times loudly, pauses then raps again twice. Her father had always said that knocking like that made sure that no one thought it was their imagination. She wonders if he still knocks like that even now. In theory he should, but what if…_

_The door opens and there’s her mother, smiling at the two of them, that reserved smile she had only for unexpected visitors before she knew what they wanted. “Hello there, can I help you?”_

_Hermione swallows hard. Seeing her mom after almost two years apart was devastating and uplifting all at once. “Hi, um,” she manages to stutter out, gripping hard to Narcissa’s hand. “My name’s Hermione Granger and--”_

_She cuts off when her mom’s face scrunches in concentration. “Hermione Granger, do I know you? The name sounds familiar. Were you a patient back in England?”_

_Hermione’s heart flutters at just that little bit of recognition as wrong as it was. “No, but, um, you do know me. It’s a bit complicated to explain. Is there any way that the two of us could come in?”_

_Her mother looks them over carefully, two women, Hermione obviously shaking too much to be of any threat, and Narcissa who had dressed down at least for her, just in a blouse and a pair of dress pants that Hermione had a hard time looking away from. They looked as non-threatening as they could given the fact that with wands they could kill in an instant. She rather hopes her mother doesn’t sense that part though. She hopes that war hasn’t changed her that much._

_“Ok then, come in.” She steps aside and allows them both into the foyer. “Would you like a cup of tea? Good day for it, what with all the rain.”_

_Hermione swallows hard and can’t say yes, so Narcissa does for her, bless her. “That would be lovely, thank you.” Cultured tones of her voice soothe Hermione and she feels like she can breathe a bit more now._

_Her mother bustles off to the kitchen with a follow me gesture and Narcissa leans forward to whisper in Hermione’s ear. “It will be ok, darling, I’m here. Just explain everything as we planned. You can do it. I know you can. And I’ll be by your side if you need help.”_

_She turns quickly to drop a kiss to the other woman’s cheek before following her mother into a spacious kitchen that once upon a time her mother had dreamed about. Their house in London was a good house, but the kitchen hadn’t ever been her mother’s dream kitchen. This one certainly was, all stainless steel appliances and more counter space than could possibly be used. She bustles around happily getting the kettle and cups ready, putting it on before turning to them._

_“Sit, sit,” she gestures at the stools in front of the large island and Hermione sits, Narcissa beside her, still holding her hand. “Now, how exactly do I know you?”_

_Hermione takes a deep breath and tells her everything. Every single thing that happened from the beginning to end. Well, she may glance over most of her childhood, that really isn’t the point right now, but saying she was their daughter and then explaining how they didn’t know her anymore, well that took explaining everything on from the day Minerva McGonagall showed up at their door during a rainstorm much like the one outside and changed their lives forever. She tells them about Harry, about Voldemort, about spells that she’s learned along the way to deal with the dangers, demonstrates some of them for added effect because she knows how much it had taken to convince her mother of magic’s trust existence the first time. And to top that off she pulls memories out of her head and projects them on the wall. Reading all of those books about memory had given her more skills than just trying to cure her parents, after all, and seeing is definitely better for believing. She looks at her mother through it all, willing her to believe, and she isn’t quite sure she does. There’s just a wide look in her eyes as she takes in story after story of what Hermione has done to save the wizarding world from a madman, and in turn save her mother and her father from being collateral damage._

_When she finally explains the last thing, sets the vials of potion she’d brewed on the counter, hours have past, tea long forgotten and cold, and evening closing in. Her mother looks at the potion, looks at the still of the last memory Hermione had pulled, one of the final battle at Hogwarts, frozen now on the quiet contemplation of winning the war yet before dealing with the aftermath. She looks back to Hermione and then Narcissa._

_“And if magic is real, which considering the things you’ve shown me tonight, I will believe, if only just, who’s to say that you haven’t altered those memories you’ve shown me? Who’s to say you aren’t making this all up. Who’s to say that you aren’t just having me on for your own amusement because I’m a...Muggle?”_

_Hermione closes her eyes and fights back tears. She knew it wouldn’t be easy, but hearing that from her own mother had hurt. She couldn’t blame her, but it had nonetheless._

_“While Hermione is a brilliant witch, brightest of her age, really, to alter memories from the source like that, it takes skill, a skill which I know she does not have. It isn’t as simple as imagining something and then pulling it from your brain. Real memories are different. And those were not altered.”_

_Her mother’s eyes move to Narcissa. “And how do you know that she hasn’t acquired the skill quietly and just not advertised as such?” She crosses her arms over her chest just as Hermione is wont to do when she’s feeling particularly stubborn._

_“Because one magical ability is the ability to read minds. Not all witches or wizards can do so, but mine is a natural talent, and your daughter trusts me implicitly. There are ways to block my seeing into her thoughts, but she doesn’t do so.” Her eyes linger on the woman who looks so much like Hermione save for her eyes and mouth. “And because I can read minds I can see that you want to believe. You’ve sensed that something is missing, something you can’t quite put a finger on, something that when you think of it only slips away a little farther, a niggling thought in the back of your head. This feels right, doesn’t it? Feels like what you should’ve been remembering all along, hard as it is to accept from two strange women who have walked into your home unannounced and then told you about wonders and myths that you never believed could be real. Your first thought when you opened the door to find Hermione there was how much she looked like you and your husband. You want to believe. So why don’t you let yourself?”_

_Hermione grips Narcissa’s hand hard. She hasn’t let go the entire time but now. But now. She looks at the other woman and hopes that her words are enough. She doesn’t know if she has any other ones left to give._

_Her mother clears her throat and looks away. “And the potion, what are the side effects? If I humored this and took it, what would happen if it didn’t work?”_

_Hermione and Narcissa glance at each other. While it was the only viable solution it did have some side effects, though none of them were painful or debilitating just...whatever memories that were supposed to be restored, ended up being destroyed for good. No after impressions left to tell her mother that something was missing, just. She would be Monica and her father would be Wendell and that would be that forever. The odds were possibly damned if you do, definitely damned if you don’t, which, Hermione had had worse odds, but still._

_“Nothing physical, but the nagging feeling Narcissa just described will go away if it doesn’t work as it should,” Hermione says quietly._

_“And you’re sure this is the only option? Forgive me but if you’ve just graduated, shouldn’t there be someone more knowledgeable on these things somewhere? A medical professional?”_

_Hermione looks up at her mother, looking into olive green eyes that she’d always wanted as a child because brown had seemed so boring. “The spell I used on you, how I used it, how I modified it to make sure it took only memories of me, left everything about you and dad’s lives together, and inserted a new identity over your old one? That’s never been done before. During the summer after the war I went to St. Mungos. It’s the best magical hospital in the UK, I thought there would be someone there who knew how to reverse the spell, but when I explained everything I did to every single healer with a brain speciality, they told me it couldn’t be reversed. They had no idea where to start. Even when I brought them my research on who I constructed the spell I used to modify your memories, even when I pointed out that I made sure there was at least a chance that you could have your memories back, they just shook their heads.” She nods down at the vials. “I’ve spent the last year researching along with Narcissa helping me. This is the only solution that has a chance of working. We’ve been through every single book in the memory charms section of Hogwarts between us. There could be another solution out there in some library somewhere. I’ve thought about trying to look, but considering everything, considering the breadth of knowledge that Hogwarts has, considering there were no other even vague glimmers of another cure, I could look, Narcissa and I could both fling ourselves at different wizarding libraries across the globe hoping that we would find another answer, but that might never happen. Since we have a solution in front of us, one that in the books that we’ve read has over an eighty percent success rate with spells that are built very similar to mine, it’s a calculated risk to go ahead with this plan.”_

_Hermione takes a deep breath, scoops up one of the vials and pushes herself off the stool and walks to stand in front of her mother. “It’s your choice to take it or not. If you want us to keep looking, we will. I’ll do anything to have you back. The only risk to you is that you won’t remember. And you won’t know that there will be anything to remember afterwards if it goes wrong.”_

_Her mother takes the vial from her hands and looks at it, bright green almost sparkling in the dying light of day. “If you’ll do anything, why not spend years to be sure? Or at least more sure?”_

_“Because at some point it becomes useless to carry on. At some point you have to take a leap of faith to have any forward progress. Gryffindors are good at leaps of faith. Or perhaps just blindly brave enough to risk them.” She felt tears welling in her eyes. “And it’s been two years since I’ve seen my parents and I-I-I.” She stutters to a halt._

_Her mother pulls her into a hug. “You miss your family, dear, darling girl.”_

_The words send her off a cliff. Dear, darling girl. Her mother had said that to her every single time she’d held her as she’d cried. It was too much, seeing this woman, having laid herself bare, to have her be her mother, to be so close, but so far, but to not actually have the comfort, it’s soul wrenching. She cries heaving, hard sobs for a long, long time, her mother still holding her tightly even as she is now, not knowing Hermione at all. Her hugs still feel the same after all this time._

_When she finally stops and manages to make herself pull back from her mother she swallows and smiles sheepishly. “Sorry.”_

_“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” She looks at the potion again and nods. “Wendell will need to be here. He should be home soon. He was out for lunch and a day with his friends. We should both drink it at the same time, yes?”_

_Hermione nods, they should, but she doesn’t know that she has it in her to explain everything all over again to her father. Something must show on her face because her mother cups her cheek._

_“Don’t worry about explaining. You know I can make him do whatever I ask without question.” She winks and Hermione barks out a surprised laugh. Yes, her mother could do that. She’d always found it rather hilarious as a child. Her mother just had this one tone of voice and whenever she spoke in it, her father did everything without question. It didn’t come out often, oh but when it did. “Now, how about that tea we all forgot once you got to explaining?”_

_Hermione nods and goes back to her stool. She could use the comfort._

_Her father comes home just as the tea in her cup runs out. He looks at her and Narcissa with polite confusion and a wave hello. “Didn’t know we had guests or I would’ve at least brought dessert home, hello there!” He looks to his wife for introductions._

_Instead she hands him one of the potion vials. “Introductions in a second, dear heart, first drink this. Should help counteract what I’m sure were more than a couple beers.” She pats his stomach, just slightly paunched now in middle age._

_He drinks it without question the next second and her mother does too a second behind. Hermione feels dizzy from lack of air. She must have stopped breathing. She can’t make herself breathe even as she knows that’s the problem. She needs to know, needs to see that first glimmer of recognition. Her parents’ faces are wiped clean as soon as the potion takes effect. She might be praying to every god and goddess who might be listening. She isn’t sure about the words that are coming out of her mouth other than they are pleas for it to work. Narcissa is behind her, holding her around the waist, a rock for Hermione to lean on. And they wait as one minute passes, then two, and a small eternity where she loses track._

_And then her mother turns toward her again, life coming back into her face. “I’m sorry, what were we talking about?”_

_Hermione waits for the recognition._

_There isn’t any._

_She feels herself freeze in place. Feels all her nightmares come true at once. Feels the ground fall out from underneath her. Feels like screaming, though she stays silent._

_It hadn’t worked. The one chance she had of having her parents back. And it hadn’t worked._

_She hears Narcissa thanking them for their hospitality, says that they’ll see them around the neighborhood, but they had better leave them to their dinner. She pulls Hermione off the stool and leads them outside into the rain. Hermione feels herself getting soaked, but doesn’t much care as they walk into a secluded alley. She grips onto the portkey home as Narcissa instructs. But she’s not looking at the other woman. She’s looking at the rain falling onto the ground, steadily, soothingly. She used to feel like the rain was a bit special, used to love rainy weather and a cup of tea and a good book to read with no pressure to go outside and try to enjoy the day otherwise. But that was when there was magic in the rain._

_There isn’t magic anymore._

_It’s just water._

Lightning strikes a tree within sight of Hermione. She watches as the tree basically explodes, watches as it catches on fire even during the middle of a downpour, watches as it dies. Because this has to be its death, doesn’t it? Nothing should survive a strike like that.

How is she still alive after a strike like that?

The final words her mother said to her play over and over again in her head. She can’t get them out. They are a drowning chorus damning her to live the worst moment of her life over and over again. Why had she taken the risk? Why hadn’t she taken more time? Why had she settled with the first thing she’d found during her research. Now there was nothing left. No second chance. Just. Just this.

She screams again and her magic rips from her body in a torrent. The sound of the rain around her stops but the storm rages. She looks up to see droplets of water frozen in mid-flight, hanging, floating on currents of her magic. More and more collect above her and she can see where her magic’s influence stops, twenty feet above her, a bit more on either side of her. The water just hangs there, magic waiting for her to do something with it. She doesn’t know what to do with it. What will rain do to help her fix her mistakes? It can’t do anything. Nothing can.

She howls as the thunder claps above her, shaking the ground with how loud it is. She curls in on herself. She presses her face to skinned knees and she cries. She cries for everything that has happened to her and everything she’s done to herself. She feels the rain turn to ice around her. She feels herself shivering in the cold of her own creation. She doesn’t care. Why should she care when all hope is lost? If she freezes to death in a wild garden in the middle of summer, what will it matter? If she does maybe she’ll see her parents at that train station that Harry described after he’d come back from dying. If not there then wherever the train was supposed to go. And wherever it went, her parents would have to have their memories back. What sort of afterlife would it be if they didn’t.

But then again what happened if they didn’t? What if she had to live with what she’s done in this life and the next? What if she never finds happiness again? What if, because of what she’s done, she doesn’t even go to the same place as her parents. Her parents were good, helping people, and what was she? What sort of monster erased their own parents’ memories? She deserved to go to hell, didn’t she?

She’s stupid and terrible and rash and horrific. She’s a thousand other insults. She’s everything that Bellatrix ever said she was, dirty, a traitor, a whore, a thief. How could she be like this. Her parents had taught her to be better than this. She was taught to be a good person. And she’d turned her back on it the second she’d turned her wand on her parents, hadn’t she? Around her the ice starts to thaw, inside her little bubble of still rain, wind of her own making starts to whip around her. The droplets, still half frozen, cut against her bare arms and legs. She doesn’t care. Monsters should feel pain. She’s the eye of her own little storm now as the larger one still rages above her, but she can’t feel it anymore, can’t even hear it against the prison of her own making. The wind howls to match her cries, the water multiplies to match her tears, each drop stings like the sobs leaving her raw throat. She’s not sure how to stop any of this. She isn’t sure she wants to. This is what she deserves. So she cries and wails and sobs and feels the rain and wind buffet against her, feels the water turn to ice and sleet, little razors cutting her, feels it turn back into water again, and she just lets it happen because what other choice is there? She had lost any other choice when she had handed her mother that vile of sickly green potion. This is who she is now.

She raises her head after no idea how long. Minutes, hours, days? What does it matter. But she thinks she heard something over the screaming wind. It’s probably just a tree falling over in the woods in front of her, unable to take the larger storm any longer, ready to face its fate. But she sees no downed trees. She sees nothing around her so she turns to look behind her and finds Narcissa, glowing golden, hair and robes floating in the current of Hermione’s magic, unaffected by the wind or rain, walking towards her steadily. Hermione blinks, looking at the woman, wondering what she’s doing out here. She was just in the manor. Why would she come out in a storm like this?

“Hermione!” She calls again, now that she’s closer she can actually hear the other woman, if only just.

Panic sparks in her. She doesn’t care if she gets hurt, can feel the myriad of tiny cuts on her skin, freely bleeding in the pouring rain, but she cares if Narcissa gets hurt. Even if she doesn’t look like she’s being affected now, how long will that last? How much magic is Narcissa using to make herself immune? Is she tired already? She has to stop herself. She can’t hurt anyone else she loves. She would rather die.

But she can’t stop. She tries. She really, really does, but everything inside her is just in so much turmoil, she can’t pull her magic back to where it belongs. She closes her eyes and tries to take in slow deep breaths, but with her eyes closed all she sees are the faces of her parents. The wind whips around her even harder and her breathing speeds up again. In, out, in, out, a rapid stacco. She knows she can’t be getting enough oxygen, knows she’s probably experiencing her first panic attack, but she can’t help it. How does anyone ground themselves when their mind is screaming like a banshee?

Narcissa moves closer still. Her pace is slow but steady. “Hermione, darling, what’s wrong?” She shouts into the wind.

“Everything!” And Hermione’s voice breaks on the word and she feels more blood run down the back of her throat. She isn’t going to be able to speak for days after this. Not that that really matters. But she knows it will make Narcissa worry. She’ll probably call Andromeda to heal her, but she doesn’t know that she wants to be healed. What are a few days of not talking and some cuts and bruises in the face of everything going wrong?

Narcissa finally comes close enough to drop to her knees beside Hermione, golden hair still floating gently as if there isn’t a hurricane force wind whipping around them. She pulls Hermione into her, sits down on the ground and ensconces Hermione in her arms, pulling her onto her lap, and holding her tightly enough Hermione can feel it in her bones. 

“I’m here, darling. I’ll always be here.” She cradles Hermione’s head gently.

“You can’t promise that.” Hermione’s voice is in tatters. No one can promise anything like that. Even as witches they have their limits. If she’s learned anything this summer, it’s that. Death could take Narcissa away from her and there would be no fix. For anything else? How could she trust herself to fix a problem after this. How could she trust herself at all.

“It wasn’t a promise, but a statement. I’ll always be here for as long as I am physically able to be. It will take the gods to move me from your side, my love.”

Hermione felt more tears falling from her eyes, only distinguishable from the rest of the rain on her face by the fact that they left warm trails down her cheeks. “Why would you want to? I’m horrid. I don’t deserve to be a witch.”

“Oh, Hermione,” Narcissa’s voice is so soft, comforting, but she can feel the woman breaking for her underneath that. Her arms grip onto her tighter and she lets out a silent, shuddering breath. “Is this how you’ve felt the whole time?”

She shakes her head, burying her face in Narcissa’s neck. “I don’t think I’ve felt much of anything in months. I just. I just. Broke.” The rain is knives against her skin again with the words. She is broken. She’s defective. If she had been a better witch then she would have her parents back.

“You didn’t break, dear heart. You’re trying to heal. You were ready to feel again so you let yourself. You have to feel, to mourn, to grieve for the things you lost, in order to be able to go on.”

“I don’t want to go on. I lost them Narcissa. I lost my parents because I didn’t love them enough! That has to be why the potion didn’t work. It has to be! It’s all my fault! I should’ve waited, I should’ve found something else that was foolproof, I should’ve looked more. I was impatient and look where that got me! I was selfish! I took a chance and it backfired and it’s all my fault!”

Narcissa pulls back enough that she lifts Hermione’s chin and forces her to look into stormy blue eyes. “Hermione, do you think I’m at fault at all in this?”

Hermione squints at her. “What, no, of course not? Why would you be?”

“I worked with you on finding the solution. I agreed it was the best option and that there was little use in trying to look for another one. I was there with you every step of the way. I helped you brew the potion. I arranged for the portkey. I sat by your side as your parents took it. If it’s your fault then it’s as much my fault as yours.”

“But the potion was based on love and--” 

“And what? You loved your parents enough to send them thousands of miles away without any memory of you just to protect them. Do you not think that was enough love? Or do you think just because I had no connection to them that I didn’t share connection with them in my own way. My darling love, they made _you_ . They raised you into the wonderful woman you are today. Because of who they are, you are who you are. How could I not love them in my own way because I love you truly and deeply. And if you think that you are horrid, that you don’t deserve to be a witch, what does that make me? I served at the behest of a mad man for years. I watched you be _tortured._ I thought that people of your blood _deserved_ what they got during the first war and I wasn’t so strong in my conviction that it wasn’t deserved during the second. I turned to the light for my own reasons, not for the right ones. The only reason I know what is good and right now, the only reason I’m really and truly trying to change, is because of you, Hermione. You are the best witch I have ever met bar none. You deserve to be a witch and you are the furthest thing from horrid on this planet. You didn’t deserve the potion not to work, but it didn’t and that is heartrending. You are _allowed_ to grieve. You are allowed to take as much time as you need to do so. If you need to seek therapy to cope with the loss I will be by your side every single step of the way.” She shook Hermione a bit. “But what you aren’t allowed to do is take yourself to task over it. I won’t allow you to become a shell of your former self because all you spend your time doing is thinking of what ifs and if onlys. I won’t allow you to waste away in front of my eyes. I have three people left in this world who are important to me, you, Draco, and Andromeda. And I would fight the gods themselves before I saw any of your hurt by anyone's hand, including your own.”

Hermione stares at Narcissa, completely shocked. She feels the lashing of the rain lessen, feels the wind die down, but she can’t look away from the woman she loves for an instant to confirm that what she feels is happening. Narcissa is always breathtaking, but like this? She isn’t sure she’s even breathing.

“So let yourself feel. You can acknowledge that you feel guilty, but if you don’t your _damndest_ to accept those feelings as false and move on from them, I swear to every single god and goddess listening, Hermione, that I will take you to whatever therapist, carry you to the highest mountain, sail across the sea, whatever you need to do so. Because you’re not becoming that unfeeling automaton again. And you aren’t going to die of guilt. Not if I have a damned word to say about it because I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you by my side. I want us to make our own family. I want to see the day you become minister or a professor, or whatever you might want to do. I want us to see the future unfolding before us and see hope! Golden hope so bright it’s blinding so even if we don’t know where we’ll end up, we know it will be wonderful because the other is at our side. I want everything with you, Hermione Granger. Everything.” She pulls in a deep breath. “But first, we will get you through this, one day at a time. And for that, we’re going to go back inside and you’re going to allow me to take care of you and call ‘dromeda to heal your wounds, then I’ll make you a cup of tea and hold you and if you need to cry, you can cry as much as you want, because it is okay to feel, so long as you don’t mire yourself in it. Do you understand me, my love?”

She doesn’t really see any other choice but to nod. Here she was sitting in a storm of Hermione’s own making, under a storm of natural causes, and yet Narcissa was the true force of nature. How could she come to any different conclusion as she sat in the woman’s lap, Narcissa’s still glowing gold, hair a halo around her. She had fallen in love with this woman, is still deeply, madly, truly in love with her even under all the chaos of her feelings right now. She had fallen in love with Narcissa Black. And Narcissa Black was going to be her savior. Or at least she would help her to be her own savior as the case may be.

Hermione leans forward and kisses the woman. Around her the rain starts to fall again, her magic slipping out of it and back into herself. It feels tired but better for the release. Above them the thunder and lightning are starting to move away, but the rain is still falling around them, shifting from downpour back to steady rain showers again. The worst of the storm has passed, even if it still continues. 

She pulls back from Narcissa to find the glow gone and Narcissa’s hair back to its sleek perfection, she’s still not affected by the normal rain even without it, and tucks her head into her neck once again. “I understand,” she says. Now her voice is steady, if still ragged. Everything hurts, everything is bruised, everything is washed clean.

“Good.” Narcissa casts wandlessly to raise Hermione to her feet. “Now, let's get you fixed up, shall we?” Her look is soft as she stretches out a hand to Hermione once more.

She takes it without hesitation and Narcissa leads her back up the garden path, the wildness decreasing as they grow ever closer to the manor. The rain continues lightening around them until they reach the door and it’s just a light drizzle. She looks up at the sky and frowns. It doesn’t feel like it should be over just yet.

“What are you thinking?” Narcissa asks, pulling open one of the many back doors into the manor, this one leading into the kitchen.

“My mother used to say there was magic in the rain, even before we knew I was a witch,” Hermione says softly, the words tearing at her just a bit on their way out, but they feel light on her tongue, like they still are the right thing to say.

Narcissa tilts her head at that. “Do you believe so?”

Hermione looks back up at the passing storm. “I used to. Now, I’m not sure. Maybe. It would make sense. Everything interconnected by magic so nothing is ever truly alone and nothing is ever really gone. Not in the grand scheme of things.” She looks back at Narcissa. “But I’d have to think about it more, I think, before I would agree with it again.”

The older witch pulls her inside with a gentle hand, finally out of the rain. “Take all the time you need, my love.”


End file.
